


Dumb Luck

by SubwayWolf



Series: Old College Try [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Facials, Handcuffs, M/M, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: Dennis agrees over drinks to blow Mac, but if they're going to do this, it's going to be done Dennis' way.





	Dumb Luck

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! i know i've been on the yuri on ice hype train for like 5 months straight now, but i've also been watching it's always sunny every day for almost a month now, which means a fic like this was inevitable! mac/dennis is good shit so i had to get it out of my system. i still haven't seen at least half of the episodes so don't knock me if i get shit wrong... though i'm pretty sure it doesn't take a genius to figure out the general concept/dynamics of this show. still, i hope yall get some enjoyment from this quick fic. if you're reading this, i love you.
> 
> i really enjoyed writing it. if you guys want to shoot some iasip requests/ideas my way, my nsfw twitter is @subwaywolfx so just hmu there.
> 
> edit: i'm now doing a kink bingo card for the summer and it's gonna be all about macdennis. so here's the first box checked off, deepthroating!

Mac always liked the phrase “dumb luck,” but this was taking it a little too far. It was definitely luck, and it _was_ extremely stupid, for a number of reasons. 

Mac had to think long and hard if he’d had anything to drink tonight. After determining that he hadn’t, he thought about it again, and came up with the same conclusion. He was awake. He was sober. He closed his eyes for a long moment, wondering if, when he opened them, this would all be gone.

But when he opened his eyes, Dennis was still there. In all his gorgeous glory.

Dennis was still standing in the kitchen, shirtless and without pants, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on the table. He was only wearing briefs and dirty white socks now, his ass well-shaped and firm, framed by the tight, black fabric ending mid-thigh. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t seem to notice that he was being watched.

But as enthusiastically enticing as Dennis seemed just a few hours ago, when they were buzzed and teasing each other – maybe even borderline _flirting_ with each other, if Mac was to be crass – Dennis was a great deal more reserved and distant now that they were at the apartment and ready to do this. Even so, he wasn’t backing out. He was undressing and preparing. For exactly what, Mac wasn’t sure. All he could do in the meantime was live in fear.

Dennis was fishing something else out of his bag now, something Mac didn’t recognize at the distance away he was sitting. The object was black and fit in two hands, and when Dennis stepped away from his bag and began to move into the other room, Mac sat forward so fast his neck almost snapped. 

It was a lot of work pretending he wasn’t watching Dennis undress, and Mac was a horrible liar and actor, but if Dennis noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. He obviously had more important things on his mind. 

Mac was seated on the couch, practically sweating in his seat. Dennis stood in front of him, crotch-level to Mac’s line of vision. He put his hands out and showed Mac exactly what he was holding. 

They were black leather handcuffs. They looked like they had been used often, for they were frayed slightly where metal met leather, but the padding was mostly intact and the stitches were in all the right places. Dennis likely was unable to afford a pair much better, but nonetheless, they seemed to be able to do their job well enough. 

Mac must have been gaping at them with wide eyes and mouth hanging open, because Dennis sighed and explained, “They’re handcuffs.” 

Mac stared up at him dumbly. Of course they were handcuffs. But why…

Dennis sighed again. “Put them on me.”

This didn’t make Mac at any less of a loss for words. Dennis gave the cuffs to his friend and turned around, shoulders squared over his hips, arms behind his back, standing tall, and now it was his ass in Mac’s slack-jawed face. 

Mac stared down at the handcuffs, then looked back to Dennis, puzzled. Dennis was probably dexterous enough to put them on himself, and when Mac realized Dennis probably _liked_ when other people put it on him, his stomach turned a little. 

“Uh…” Mac muttered, brow twisting, “Are you sure about this?”

Dennis’s arms remained behind his back, forearms level and touching, the skin underneath smooth and white, carpal bones in his wrists perfectly parallel with veins and tendons and digitorum muscles. 

“Of course I’m sure.” His voice was keenly annoyed. Dennis had a very limited number of virtues, and patience was not one of them, at least not at the moment. “Don’t I look sure?”

He looked… _something_. Mac wasn’t entirely certain how to respond, so he didn’t. 

Exhaling, Mac managed to figure out how to secure the cuffs. He proceeded to clasp them around the wrists in front of him, then fastened and locked them, snapping them into place. 

Satisfied, Dennis turned again. His chin was raised slightly, and he looked down his nose at Mac. His voice was unusually low, but also oddly quiet. “Can I suck you off?” 

They had discussed this earlier, in secret at the bar after everyone else had left, so the answer was technically already established. It was nice that he was asking, anyway, no matter that it was a little late in the process.

Mac thought about saying no just to get a reaction out of Dennis, but Mac knew him well enough to know that something like that probably wouldn’t fly right now. Dennis didn’t seem to be inclined to that sort of humor at the moment. 

Cautiously, Mac furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I thought… I thought that’s, uh, why we came home…” He had figured that meant consent was already established, but he wasn’t sure, exactly. He was not particularly well-versed in determining the ethics of these things. 

Rolling his shoulders, Dennis took a breath, his ribcage expanding almost unnoticeably as he did so. He was standing there, package full and heavy near Mac’s face, hips narrow and lithe, his soft and toned torso pillared upwards, his chest barreled wide, his shoulders muscled and freckled… 

Mac had seen Dennis mostly and fully nude countless times over the years, but this was different, and much better. Dennis really was a beautiful man with a great body, but there was something about this stance, those _cuffs_ , which amplified his appeal by a tenfold. Mac was starting to question what he knew of his own fetishes.

Looking down and giving Mac a slow once-over, Dennis narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “You had better last longer than ninety seconds, Mac,” he warned, or maybe it was a command.

Mac found himself waiting for an “or else”, but none came. Dennis was surely in no position to threaten him, anyway. Mac half-smiled-half-grimaced awkwardly, but Dennis’s lips didn’t even as much twitch into a grin, so Mac knew this was no joke. His smile dropped instantly.

It was clear that, so far, Dennis was disappointed with Mac’s lack of maturity. Of course, this wasn’t the first time. But it certainly was not a good start. 

“If we’re going to do this, it’s going to be done my way,” Dennis clarified, setting his jaw.

 _No kidding_. Mac sighed. He decided to keep his mouth shut and not make any more embarrassingly dumb facial expressions. He shifted in his seat and spread his legs, giving Dennis room to position himself. 

Demonstrating expert balance, Dennis was able to get to his knees without toppling over, and in half a second he was between Mac’s legs, peering up at him with taciturn, blue eyes and a pursed-lipped expression of insistence. He looked ice cold – no, he looked _hot_. How was it that one man, as confident as a king, could look so pretty on his knees?

The dumbfounded expression on Mac’s face must have been getting progressively worse, because Dennis was scowling. “Could you wipe that stupid slack-jawed look off your face?” he asked, condescendingly rather than politely. 

Mac felt worried instead of offended. Dennis’s voice was slightly slurred. Was he still drunk? How sad really was this guy, deep down behind that asshole attitude and that veritable crown?

The muscles in Dennis’s shoulders were tense and impatient. “Please,” he said through pearl-white teeth. “Get a grip.” He didn’t seem any less ticked off even when Mac went straight-faced. Dennis jutted his chin out, indicating to Mac’s pants.

As he obeyed the silent command and slid his shorts and underwear off, Mac was so, _so_ tempted to talk back or call Dennis some condescending name, but by some god-granted miracle, he managed to keep his mouth shut, for once. He didn’t like being talked down to or patronized. It was a good thing he had some wits about him at the moment, or else he would have talked back, which, at the bar or not, really wasn’t his place.

Dennis spread his own legs, lowering slightly in his seated position. He barely glanced at Mac’s newly-exposed dick. It was like he was uninterested. Whether this was a ploy or genuine indifference, Mac wasn’t sure.

Dennis gave his final instructions. “Don’t talk or make any noises. Don’t move around. And _don’t_ touch my hair.”

Mac nodded instead of replying, because that seemed like the right thing to do. He could already feel his cock growing heavy, tilting to the side and lifting, filling up just at the sight of Dennis on his knees, barking orders. Mac reached over and grabbed at his half-hard length, stroking it determinedly yet impatiently. Touching himself made it easy to get hard, but looking at Dennis’s apathetic gaze made it damn quick.

Mac was soon completely hard, his cock stiff, filling his entire fist and beyond. Dennis only had to move his head forward for Mac to relinquish control, putting his hands back at his sides. His heart beat heavily in his chest; he feared it might escape or make his building anxiety obvious. He balled his hands into fists so they wouldn’t tremble.

Tongue passing parted lips, Dennis’s eyelids dropped lazily as he moved his head between Mac’s legs, starting with licking simple, slow stripes up under the rim of the head and around and across the tip. He then progressed to placing the tip in his mouth and on his flicking, flipping tongue, cocking his head to either side as he worked. Getting lost in the art, Dennis let his eyes fall closed entirely, so his long eyelashes laid gingerly against his flushed cheeks. 

Even with hands bound, Dennis was working nothing less than magic. He used his lips and tongue and not even half a hint of teeth to work his way around, up, and down the upper half of the cock before him. Lasting ninety seconds was very quickly starting to feel like some sort of unachievable world record.

If time was passing, it moved slowly compared to Mac’s physiology. Dennis was good, _professional_ -level good. Mac forced himself to look away, but it was so difficult to keep his eyes averted. Dennis’s own dick was stiff between his legs, tenting his black underwear, but Mac was too overwhelmed and overstimulated to feel sorry for him.

Not wasting any time, Dennis finally dipped his head and placed it all in his mouth. His lips were pink and feminine, his mouth wet and warm, and he took half in at a time, his tongue cushioning the bottom, and he angled his head so the tip of Mac’s dick was running along the ridges of the roof of his mouth. 

Desperate to keep himself from shooting too early, Mac resorted to visualizing anything and everything that turned him off. _Homeless people. Dead puppies. Blood._. The strategy wasn’t helping, not even a little. _The creepy guy who works at the 7-11 down the street. Mom._

Relentless, Dennis moved his head up, then down again, then back up, almost emptying his mouth entirely, but then down, _deeper_ , pushing Mac’s thick length further and further past his lips, down into his throat. He lacked a gag reflex entirely and used it to his advantage. 

A curt moan passed out of Mac’s lips, and, remembering the rules, he brought a hand up to his own mouth and covered it in fear that another would slip out. His own hand was shaking; it was pointless to resist.

In one final push, Dennis moved his mouth down the entire length until his lips were around the thickest part of the base of the shaft and the tip of his nose was in the curly black pubes between Mac’s legs and stayed there, deep-throating him, for as long as he could handle. 

It was unbelievably amazing. Mac could actually feel just how deep he was, and he could feel the early spasms of muscles in Dennis’s throat – Dennis couldn’t breathe, and it was no doubt he wanted it this way. He wanted to be choked, he wanted his trachea to burn and tighten, he wanted his cheeks to darken from pink to red, and he wanted tears to puddle up in the corners of his eyes as he struggled.

Lacking the cognition to accurately track passage of time, Mac wasn’t entirely sure how long this was going on, but he knew it would be over real soon. _Starving children in Africa. High school shootings_. He wasn’t going to last. _Frank Reynolds._

It was no use. Mac moved the hand over his mouth up to his eyes, covering them, almost shuddering. “Ohh, god, Dennis, I’m gonna…” His toes curled. The back of his brain was bursting with light.

The sentence didn’t even need to be finished. Dennis must have possessed some sort of psychic intuition because at the exact perfect moment, he sucked up the shaft a few more easy, hasty times until finally sliding Mac’s cock out of his mouth, letting his lips glide against it all the way up until the tip, and precisely then, the climax was reached. Dennis received the load all over his lips, mouth, and chin, setting out his tongue to collect the last few pumps, and then lapping up the rest and swallowing it all.

An understandably great deal of afterglow followed. After catching his breath and calming down, Mac, despite himself, leaned over and tenderly wiped whatever come Dennis’s tongue couldn’t reach off of his face. 

Dennis’s eyes showed discontent, and it was uncertain if his cheeks were blushing pink from embarrassment, anger, or affection, but it didn’t matter. Mac didn’t care if this was against the rules. And it turned out that touching Dennis _still_ didn’t make this any less real.


End file.
